Chapter 6, Wake Me Up, I'm Living a Nightmare

Mark sat on one of the benches outside the hospital, breathing in the early evening air and trying to feel human or as close to human as he could manage right now.

He was dressed to go home and, realizing now that he was chilled with cold, even though the ambient temperature was on the warm side, at least for Seattle, he zipped up his leather jacket fully and hunched into it, jamming his hands into the pockets. The nausea had passed, thank God. But now, on top of the creeping cold, he had a pounding headache. He hadn't been wrong when he'd described himself to Alex as a wreck.

Alex was now monitoring the breast augmentation patient. Correction. The breast abscess with incipient sepsis patient and, thanks to Mark's flawed judgment, incipient fucking lawsuit, most likely, as well. The needle aspiration had gone without a hitch and the anti-infectives were beginning to do their job. But somehow Mark doubted that having her life saved by the surgeon who'd effectively threatened it in the first place would cut it with Mrs. . . . what's-her-face . . . Carmichael, and certainly not with her belligerent husband. He had paced up and down muttering about Richard Webber and glaring at Mark until he'd wanted to hide somewhere and not have to keep up the act of being the confident, arrogant Head of Plastics. Amazingly, and to Mark's eternal gratitude, Alex had manufactured an emergency for him to go to and volunteered to deal with the husband himself. Clearly, he would have to buy his resident coffee more often.

Thoroughly cold now and frustrated, Mark jiggled his left leg rapidly. He shouldn't have left Alex holding the fort. But he honestly couldn't cope any longer. Everything was turning into a fucked up mess again. Exactly where he'd been before the cancer, before Meredith, except now he couldn't even do his job properly. He stopped jiggling and kicked aggressively at the ground, then slumped forward and buried his head in his hands. Life sucked. Now more than ever. The despair of it all felt like a harsh blow delivered to an already sore gut.

He sighed heavily. He had literally no idea how to fix things with Meredith. Hell, he couldn't even fix his own emotions. The images in his head freaked him out; waking up scared shitless freaked him out; Meredith freaked him out; and, whatever he said about understanding, the thought of her even wanting to screw some guy at Joe's tore at his insides.

So he sat in the same position, freezing and despondent, until he became aware of someone standing close by and, when he looked up, found that Derek was there.

"Are you okay?" Derek asked. His eyes showed concern mixed with only a little gentle amusement. "You seem . . . distracted."

Mark tried to think of an excuse. Because, really, how the fuck could he explain to Derek that he'd screwed it up with the second woman he'd stolen from him?

But he couldn't. He didn't have the energy or inventiveness to do anything more than utter a truncated version of the truth.

"No," he mumbled and dragged a hand through his hair, shooting Derek a desperate look.

The tragic irony was that the person Mark most wanted to confide in was the last person he could. And that was his fucking fault as well. God it was all so complicated! He wished that his stomach didn't lurch in protest at the thought of drinking. Because the only solution he knew for how he felt right now was to go to Joe's and try to drown himself in scotch. Since that wasn't an option, he was completely at a loss.

"Anything I can help with?" Derek asked and sat down next to him on the bench. "You'd tell me if there was any change; with the cancer; if anything was wrong?"

"Ah, fuck Derek! I should have told you." Mark closed his eyes briefly and sighed at this further evidence of his own hopelessness where any kind of relationship was concerned.

"Told me what?" Derek asked anxiously.

"Nothing bad," Mark reassured him and smiled slightly. "Turns out Julia's clinical trial kicks ass as much as she thinks it does." The smile turned into a self-conscious grin. "She tells me I'm in remission."

Derek's eyes softened with surprise and pleasure, but then clouded slightly as he considered. "But—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Mark snapped irritably, his few seconds of optimism vanishing as he anticipated what Derek was about to say. "It's only been a year. It's too soon to call it remission." He shot a hurt, cynical smile at his friend and added, "The world could get lucky and I could still die a horrible death."

When he saw Derek's wounded, incredulous look, Mark groaned. "I'm sorry. That was totally uncalled for. I'm having a really bad day. Not that that's any kind of excuse." He forced himself to seem warm and hopeful. "Unofficially, I'm in remission. Julia can't find any evidence of cancer."

Now Derek just sat and stared at him, his eyes showing such deep emotion that it made Mark sufficiently uncomfortable to need to joke.

"You doing okay there, man? Should I go inside and fetch a nurse or something?"

Derek shook his head very slightly, not in answer to Mark's attempt at joking, but in wondering response to his own thoughts.

"If somebody had asked me, a year ago, how I would feel about this," he said slowly, "I don't know quite what I would have said." He grimaced as suddenly he recollected his callous reaction when Meredith first told him Mark had cancer. "Actually, I suspect I do," he said sheepishly. "But it wouldn't have been the truth. I never really felt that way."

Mark glanced down at the ground and shrugged a little. It was a long time ago and they'd moved on since then and he understood.

Derek waited until Mark met his gaze again, and then said. "Now, though, I don't know quite how to tell you . . . " He laughed slightly and made a helpless gesture with his hands. "I don't know how to tell you how pleased I am."

A smile lit up Derek's face and he laid his hand on Mark's arm, leaving it there long enough and firmly enough to fully convey the friendship he felt.

Mark felt overwhelmed. Because, yeah, he and Derek were good now. But he hadn't expected this genuine affection. It seemed like he had his brother back again, if only for the moment. And as his mind scrambled to process what was happening, an impulse made Mark blurt out his need for advice.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Derek shrugged.

"Tell me if it's, you know, inappropriate," Mark said awkwardly. "It's just that—"

"Right," Derek interrupted. "Because there's really something you could do or say that's more inappropriate than the things you've already done." He was teasing; it was friendly sarcasm; it was how they used to talk all the time. But it brought Mark suddenly back to reality. However desperate he felt, talking to Derek about Meredith was beyond tactless.

He shook his head. "Never mind," he said quietly. "It's not the sort of thing—"

"That inappropriate, huh?" Derek said, raising his eyebrows and still friendly. He chewed his bottom lip as he pretended to consider. "How about I let you have one get out of jail free card? In honor of your remission."

When Mark still hesitated, giving Derek a doubtful look, he added, "So let's get this over with shall we?"

Mark took a breath. It was tactless, but he needed some kind of help with this. "What . . . when you . . . how would you?" he struggled, to Derek's amusement, before he managed, "How would you fix something with a woman? Something you'd fucked up. That you wanted to fix."

At first Derek just stared at him, then erupted into spluttering laughter.

Acutely embarrassed now, Mark muttered, "Like I said, never mind. It doesn't—"

"No," Derek broke in, wiping his eyes. "I said 'get out of jail free' and I guess you did say it was inappropriate." He paused. "Let me see," he pantomimed someone in deep thought. "How to fix things with a woman?" He looked at Mark and gave a playful, if dry smile. "So far, Mark, women I'm having problems with sleep with you. So I'm not really sure I have much wisdom to offer you. You're kind of ahead of me on that one."

He laughed again, pleased with his own wit.

"I guess we shouldn't go there, huh?" Mark sighed and stared down at his hands, feeling himself blush.

"That might be a good idea" Derek replied, but then relented a little when he saw Mark's discomfort. He and Meredith were over. He guessed he could be a little generous and make good on his 'get out of jail free' offer.

He touched Mark briefly on the arm to get his attention and, when Mark lifted his eyes, said, "I wouldn't worry about it. Meredith obviously loves you." He paused. "I'm sure you'll work it out, whatever it is."

"Yeah?" Mark ventured uncertainly.

Derek nodded confidently. "Now, can we please talk about something else?"

Mark shifted around awkwardly. "Can I ask you one more thing?" he asked.

"Not about Meredith?"

"No."

"Or Addison?"

"No," Mark said, losing patience a little. It wasn't only Derek this was difficult for. "I get it, okay? I'm sorry. This is something else though."

"Okay," Derek conceded. "In that case, fire away."

Mark inhaled. "I keep seeing this picture in my head," he said. "Of a woman; a girl. And I have no idea who she is. But I get the feeling I know her from somewhere, and I was thinking maybe you'd recognize her if I described her."

They both became aware at the same time that Mark's hands were now shaking a little and he jammed them back in his pockets to stop the movement and evade Derek's scrutiny.

"She's really young; nervous looking and kind of . . . " Mark swallowed. "She scares the shit out of me, Derek, and she's not even doing anything scary. She's just drinking champagne and laughing." It was stupid, but the shaking he'd concealed inside his pockets became worse and a chill ran down his spine as he re-lived the dream.

"Do you think you could be having a delayed reaction to the cancer, now that you're in the clear? That sometimes happens." Derek asked, his voice betraying concern. "Maybe you should take a little time off? To adjust."

The idea that the crappy state of his life right now could be down to something medical and easily explained was momentarily heartening to Mark. Julia had never mentioned anything like that. But then her people skills weren't exactly stellar, especially when she was psyched about something, as she had been about the success of her clinical trial. But tempting as it was, he knew in his heart that wasn't it.

He shook his head and brushed Derek's suggestion aside. "Like I said," he repeated. "It seems like she's someone I knew once. I've just forgotten."

Derek studied Mark for a moment. His behavior worried him; and physically he looked terrible. But he decided pressuring Mark would be a non-starter and went along with his question.

"What does she look like? The woman?" Derek asked.

Mark swallowed. "Long blonde hair, skinny, society type. You know." He grinned briefly. "The in-bred kind that used to come to the practice in family groups for the exact same nose job."

"How about Savvy?" Derek suggested.

"Seriously, Derek. I think I can just about remember Savvy." He smirked. "I take it you'll be sharing your thoughts on her DNA with Weiss?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Not the in-bred part. But she's blonde and kind of a society type, I guess. And you haven't seen her in ages."

"It's not Savvy," Mark stated.

"Well, then . . ." Derek looked at Mark apprehensively.

"What?"

"Your mom looked sort of like that, when we were kids."

Derek thought this suggestion might upset Mark and he was surprised when he just shook his head dismissively. But there was an edge to his voice when he said, "My mother never looked that that. This girl's really young. Like really young. And she looks, I don't know, innocent, in a weird, crazy kind of way."

"Your mother has to have been young once," Derek said cautiously, careful not to use the affectionate term "mom" again. It had slipped out before. Mark hadn't called his mother "mom" for as long as Derek could remember. "My mother," "Pamela" or "that fucking bitch" were more commonly used, if he talked about her at all.

"Yeah, well, that's open to debate," Mark replied. "But, anyway, she's a cynical, gin-soaked bitch in all my memories of her. And," he shrugged a little helplessly, "it feels like I remember this girl. But, seriously. Thanks, but never mind" He'd had enough now and Derek's speculations were pissing him off. How was it that all conversations these days came down to family? "I guess I'll work it out. Or not. It's fine."

They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, Derek still concerned and wondering how to broach the subject, and Mark uncomfortable and frustrated. Then, just as Derek was debating whether to get up and leave, Mark's cell phone rang, startling them both.

He squeezed his eyes shut before taking it out and answering it, literally praying that it wasn't Alex calling to say the sepsis had worsened. When he saw the caller id, and saw that it was Alex, his stomach clenched and his pulse quickened and, when he flicked the phone open and answered "Sloan," he had to make a supreme effort to sound like himself.

"She's fine," Alex's voice came over the receiver. "Fever's down; white blood cell count is normalizing. She's fine. Husband's a total dick, though. He's been in with the Chief for like an hour now."

Mark rubbed his face with his free hand. He didn't like being the target of a possible lawsuit. It wasn't something that happened to him. He was that good. Or at least, he had been. But he'd been in Richard's position before now, especially since arriving at Seattle Grace, and it was usually easy enough to find some kind of compromise that wasn't too damaging.

"Good work," he said to Alex. "And, uh, thanks. Go find an intern to watch her and get some rest. I'm going home but page me if you need me." He clicked the phone shut and put it away.

"Okay?" Derek asked.

"'S fine," Mark said, not wanting to discuss it. "It was just Karev about a patient."

A sudden rush of relief washed through Mark. He hadn't quite realized how pent up he'd been. He almost never lost patients and the prospect, however distant, of losing one today had felt like the final deathblow to his ability to cope. As the relief flooded in, all his earlier, mistaken weariness towards Meredith disappeared and was replaced by a physical urgency to touch her and be with her. He still longed to be in bed, but now he couldn't bear the thought of it without her. He needed to be with her so much it pushed everything else from his mind. All he wanted, all he could think about, was holding her in his arms and losing himself in the kind of deep sleep that was only possible when she was with him.

He stood up. "I've gotta go," he said, knowing that he sounded irrational and not caring, even when he noticed Derek's worried expression. "Seriously. I can't explain. I've just gotta go."

He picked up his bag and smiled briefly at Derek. "Thank you," he said. "You . . . just thank you." Even if his mind hadn't been on Meredith, he would have found it difficult to express his thanks. As it was, it was impossible.

Derek nodded slowly. "Look after yourself," he said softly. "You really should think about taking a few days off."

"Yeah, maybe," Mark said. It wouldn't be such a bad idea. It wasn't like he was doing much good at the hospital, based on the last twenty-four hours' track record. "See you later, okay?"

Derek nodded again and gave him one, last inquiring look before turned and walked away.

As Mark lowered himself into the driver's seat of the Carrera, he knew with absolute certainty that he had to make things right with Meredith. She was the single most important thing in his life and he couldn't lose her. He turned on the ignition and put the car in gear. The day had drained him of every resource he had, except this certainty of his love. He needed get home, curl up in her arms and sleep. After that, he would do whatever it took to fix things with her. Literally whatever it took. He would even let her into his past. Because if that's what she needed to feel secure with him again, he didn't have a choice.

- - - - -

Title song: Time of Dying, Three Days Grace

On this bed I lay
Losing everything
I can see my life passing me by
Was it all too much
Or just not enough
Wake me up, I'm living a nightmare

I will not die
I will survive

I will not die, I'll wait here for you
I feel alive, when you're beside me
I will not die, I'll wait here for you
In my time of dying